


Nothing Unimportant

by borrowedphrases



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love, Valentine's Love Words Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryouma knows everything important about Takatora.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Unimportant

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous request.
> 
> Written for the "Himeros" prompt from the [Valentine's Love Words Meme](http://borrowedphrases.tumblr.com/post/76277292728/valentines-drabble-meme).

Ryouma knows the exact rate of Takatora's pulse when he engages the driver, they way it quickens slightly when he places the lock seed into the port. He knows his height down to the micrometer, knows the average of its fluctuation from waking to sleeping, knows the average of its decline over the years. He knows that his natural average core body temperature is 98.3, that his blood type is A, and that he is allergic to cats and amoxicillin.

He knows what university Takatora graduated from, where he attended to high school, what middle and elementary school he went to, and even the name of his kindergarten. He knows the exact date and hour of his birth down to the second, and his astrological sign in nine different cultures. His knows his mother's lineage back seven generations, and his father's back ten. He can recite these things like reciting his own.

Ryouma sits back in his chair as he pulls up the most recent recording of the Genesis Driver's tests. Takatora stands in the virtual Helheim, one hand in his pocket. He watches the way Takatora's hand trembles before he completes the transformation, just barely perceptible.

But Ryouma sees it.

He does not know what Takatora's dreams are like, if he sleeps on his back or his side or his stomach. If he sleeps in silk pajamas or nothing at all. If he pulls his blankets up over his head, or leaves them draped low around his hips. He does not know if he starts his morning with coffee or tea, if he takes it with two sugars or none. He does not know what section of the newspaper he reads first, or if he checks his messages while he eats his toast or fruit or tamagoyaki.

He does not know the rhythm of Takatora's heartbeat when an ear is pressed to his chest, or the exact shape of the line that divides his hips from his thighs. He does not know the taste of his lips, or his shoulders, or the backs of his knees. He does not know what face of pleasure he wears when he orgasms, or the sound of whatever words he says for love. He does not know the way his arms wrap around someone.

The recording has been halted, Takatora's face on the screen.

Ryouma finds his own fingers over the pause key.


End file.
